Legacy
by WElle
Summary: He turns the engine over and the loud, soothing rumble starts to soothe him like hot chocolate in from the cold. The cold, he thinks again. It’s coming. Xover with Poltergeist:The Legacy. Set between Faith and Route 666.
1. Chapter 1

"What are we going to tell her?" Sam asks, staring out of the driver's side window at the pretty doctor with the hazel eyes drinking coffee and staring in to the night outside the ER doors. "I mean, about us. About what we are, what we do?"

Dean is silent. He can't answer that question. Can't answer any of the questions popping up constantly, like those annoying video bubbles, for the two months since they'd been to Lawrence. Since their mother, her spirit, her … whatever, told them to "Find Lilly" then turned and destroyed herself. So he ignores Sam and files the question with the rest of the questions-accusations-demands to throw at their father if they ever find him again. Another to add to the list he didn't realize he'd been composing since Stanford.

Given the enormity of what had been kept from them, it was almost silly how easy she had been to find. L. Rayne, M.D., Surgery/ER San Francisco Grace Hospital scribbled in a list of contacts in the back of the journal. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever even noticed the name before, though he'd read the fucking leather Winchester Bible often enough to recite it to himself by now. Sam had found her almost accidentally two weeks later, after the Rawhead. He'd been desperate and exhausted and looking for anyone who might help Dean. And he'd tried to call her. A doctor named Lilly. He didn't even put it together until they were leaving Nebraska.

As soon as the name had dawned on them, the car had pretty much turned itself toward California, compelled by their tacit agreement to check her out. God awful weather and a sense of _something_ neither of them could put their finger on made the drive to San Francisco days longer than it should have been. Her identity had become kind of a driving game to pass the time. Maybe their father had helped her out at some point. Maybe she'd stitched him up. Maybe she was some kind of hunter friendly doc. None of it explained why the now immolated ghost of their long dead mother would ever have heard of her. Never mind why she would have used two of the only six words she had spoken to them in 22 years to tell them to find her. Maybe John Winchester was a lying coward who'd better have one fucking good reason for keeping this from them.

It had taken less than half an hour of surveillance to figure out not only which one she was, but _who_ she was. They sat in the parked car in lot across from the ER doors deciding how best to approach, when the small brunette in surgical scrubs and white coat burst through the doors and headed for the ambulance pulling up. But for the dark hair she could have been Mary's twin. She could have been Dean's. They watched her disappear back through the doors, shouting orders at scurrying interns, keeping pace with the patient on the gurney. They pulled out of the parking lot five minutes after seeing her, drove to the motel and sat, staring at each other across the space between their beds, scrubbing their faces and sputtering out half finished sentences.

For three days they'd followed her around. Looked her up. Found out what they could without raising any red flags. She was on a nights rotation. She had a nice house, modern; a nice car, expensive. She ran before her shift, pushing herself hard for an hour through the park near her house. She was married, with a year and a half old daughter. Her husband travelled. Her slightly ragtag family was close - father, stepmother, stepsister, cousin. She was good at her job. Respected. _Formidable_ was the word her interns used.

They sit now, Sam's question hanging in the air as they watch a man in a red '67 Mustang pull up to five feet from her and get with a lunch bag in his hands. She smiles and walks to him, kisses him and waves at the little thing in the car seat, pulling her out and twirling her around in the night air.

"We won't have to tell her much." Dean finally answers. "I know that guy. He's a hunter."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean reaches for his cellphone and dials. He jams the phone against his face to keep Sam from seeing his hand shake.

"Dr. Rayne, please." He watches her kiss her daughter and walk the little girl across the hood of the car, not impressed with the sacrilege committed against the classic Mustang. "It's John Winchester. It's an emergency."

Out of the corner of his eye Dean watches Sam watching the family, transfixed. He knows what his little brother is seeing. They look happy. Normal. A happy normal looking hunter's family. _Just great._ Another lifetime moment worthy discussion for later. Never mind that his own chest aches.

"I'll hold." He says, his attention back to her now. Lilly. She hands her daughter back to the hunter and unclips the phone from her waist. She speaks for a second nodding to the man, covering the receiver with her hands, saying something. He tucks the little girl under one arm, his face now concentrating on the cell. She nods again and speaks into the phone. Five seconds later Dean is connected. Speaking to her. Watching her talk to him.

"John, is everything alright?" She has an accent. English. Rich sounding.

"John?" She asks again.

"Uh. No. It's not." He finds himself stammering. "It's not John, I mean."

"How did you get this number?" She begins looking around, surveying the space, the night, her face alive, alert, sharp. It occurs to Dean she might also have something to do with the 'family business.' She moves her body to stand in front of the hunter's, effectively shielding the little girl. There's training in her movements. He recognizes it. He looks at Sam and nods toward her.

"I know." Sam whispers, he sees it too.

"Uh. Sorry. From John. We..uh..my brother and me, we're in the same line of work. He said we should call you, if we uh…needed to." He shrugs at Sam, _what the hell else do I say_?

"Do you know where to find me?" She asks. Clipped tones, all business. Formidable is right.

"Yes. I mean the ER, San Fran Grace, right?" Dean clears his throat. Pulls himself together, this is it.

"Yes. Can you come in on your own? Are you hurt badly? Bleeding?"

"Uh no, no bleeding. It's hard to explain. We can... We can be there in ten minutes."

"I'll see you in ten. Come in through the main ER doors. Use the name Roberts and make sure to complain of chest pain. It's pretty quiet. They'll put you in an exam room and I'll come to you."

"Roberts. Chest pain. OK." Dean can barely think, barely form another sentence. Which is fine. She's already clipped the phone shut. She talks to the hunter with the child in his arms, kisses him again and he loads the little girl in the car up . She's walked back into the ER before he's even driven away.

"You ready for this?" Sam asks.

"No." Dean says. "You?"

"I don't know. Depends. Do we even know what this is?" Sam almost laughs. There is disbelief in voice. Dean snorts a small laugh.

"No. But we won't find out from here."

They get out of the car and Dean's heart pounds. He feels strange, off. Even the loud squeak of the Impala's doors sounds tinny and distant. He has butterflies and swears under his breath when he realizes his palms are sweaty. He hasn't felt like this since his first hunt. Since his last first day of school. He swaggers, cocky, his usual slick shield in place, but his insides vibrate and the blood inside him hums, ready. For something. Sam doesn't look any better.

"Lets go." They walk to the ER entrance.


	3. Chapter 3

It is telling that Dean sits on a gurney, hooked to a heart rate monitor, having had his medical history, his vitals, his list of made up symptoms and his blood taken, but not his patience. It is telling that though they have been waiting for two hours, Lilly having been detoured by a motorcycle accident victim who'd been brought in a moment behind them, Dean, the normally restless one, sits calmly while Sam, the normally tranquil one, paces and begins sentences that go nowhere and clenches and unclenches his fists.

"Sammy, go get a coffee." Dean suggests, not taking his eyes off the curtain. As though he could will her to walk through. "Or maybe some tea."

"Not until she gets here." Sam chews his thumb.

"Chamomile or some other Women's Network approved stress cure."

"Dean."

"Then take a lap around the waiting room." Dean finally looks at him, "Anything, before you start giving me real symptoms." He whispers the last two words.

He ignores the pointed look of disbelief in Sam's eyes, scrunches his face in a command and motions for him to go for a while.

Sam stands, shaking his head, maybe he should calm down. His stomach is in knots. Knots that move. He's anxious, anticipating, waiting, but for what he has no idea. He walks to the triage area, toward the vending machine and stares at it for some time before it occurs to him that the machine won't just guess what he wants. He feels he should get some kind of credit for not going for caffeine and waits for his hot chocolate. He grabs it from the dispenser, turns and nearly spills it all over the doctor.

"Oh, crap, I mean, sorry." He steps back and it's another moment before he realizes he's talking to her.

"That's alright. Certainly beats being vomited on." Lilly wipes the hot chocolate from her now cooling sleeve. "Mr. Roberts?"

He nods, dumbly. His brain frozen, cramped, paralyzed.

"I'm Dr. Rayne." She extends her hand. "Lilly."

And he's staring. Staring into Dean's eyes. "You're English." Is the only thing that occurs to him to say.

"And you're a keen observer of detail." She jokes and regards him oddly.

"Uh, yeah." He wipes his hand on his jeans and shakes hers once his mind finally snaps out of it, "Sam. Sorry. I'm just..uh..I'm"

"You're John's son, aren't you?" Putting him out of his misery.

"How did you…" _How do you know us? Who the hell are you? _

"I've seen your picture. You were much younger, but still." Something in her appraising stare flickers, then is gone, "I know your father."

"How_?" If you could just manage to keep your mouth from hanging open_, he chides himself.

"He, my father and my husband are, shall we say...business colleagues." She regards him again. This time more intensely and Sam is rooted to the spot. Where does he begin? Does he even know? Does she know? "You should put that down." Her eyes fall on the cup in his shaking hand.

He tosses it absently into the garbage can beside the vending machine.

"Is it your brother? In Curtain 4?" Her voice is gentle, studied, calming. He guesses it must be her hysterical patient voice.

"Yes." She turns and motions for him to follow her, but he's not ready yet, "Wait. Wait a second, please."

"OK."

"His heart. I mean, I know those were his symptoms," he leans knowingly on the word, "but really, his heart. He was electrocuted...there was a lot of damage." He's babbling now, spilling the story, Nebraska, Layla, the Reverend, all of it. He's telling it really for the first time to anyone who wasn't Dean, and it's a relief and it's strange that he's telling someone. Someone who won't call the police or have him locked up for observation. Someone who is listening patiently and just letting him. He's suddenly embarrassed and reigns himself in, "I just…. I mean, I see that he's OK, and the other doctor said he was fine, but.."

"His labs came back clean. His heart is perfectly healthy, on paper, but I'll look more closely, if you'd like." Her smile is reassuring, like a safe place, and he feels little, like a boy who isn't expected to be holding it together.

And a weight lifts off his shoulders, "Thank you."

"Of course. Now, shall we?" She turns back toward the curtain and starts to walk. And the knots and the anticipation and pounding of his heart are back.


	4. Chapter 4

Lilly emerges from the change room in fresh scrubs, and steps to the nurses' desk to fill out the information for the death certificate. The motorcyclist hadn't made it and she knows from experience the bitterness of not being able to save him can't be washed away by the bitterness of the awful coffee available from the only working machine on this floor. But she'll take a deep breath and try it anyway, since awful or not there's probably not going to be enough caffeine in the world tonight. John Winchester has sent her some hunters to clean up and she'll have to figure out a way to wiggle a surgical consult to see them. Thanks to the two hours lost to the motorcyclist she knew wasn't going to make it the second she saw him, the hunters had been seen by Marcus, the irritatingly almost always right ER attending who by now has, she is sure, decided the case isn't surgical. She nonchalantly asks the nurse about the other man brought in at the same time, the chest pain case, and realizes she'll have to just wing it since the results are normal and they don't seem to be hurt otherwise.

She walks to the triage chairs and stops a good distance away to watch the tall young man, apparently immobilized by the choices of hot disgusting coffee or hot disgusting chocolate. Something about him. She smiles before catching herself. Of course. Something Winchester about him. He looks like his father. He looks like he's filled out quite nicely from the lanky teenager he'd been in the picture she'd seen, the one that had fallen out of Winchester's journal the one and only time she'd been allowed near it.

_We..uh..my brother and me, we're in the same line of work. He said we should call you, if we uh…needed to. _The other one must be here with him, she guesses. The Winchester boys. If their father and rumours she hears here and there are anything to go by, she was right before, there won't be enough coffee in the world tonight. She'll think later of what a monumental understatement that was.

His skittishness, when she finally speaks to him, is at odds with the hunters she knows, with what this life demands from them. But more, the way he stares at her, the way his eyes search her and beg for something, demand something of her, have her appraising him with her own trained eye. He babbles, which seems odd for a man his size. His hands tremble and the story of his brother's recent escapades bubble forth from him in a way that reminds her of when her daughter is frightened. So do his puppy eyes, oddly, and she finds herself wanting to soothe him and sit him down and wrap an arm around his shoulders. Not prone to getting attached to her patients, this unnerves her and she concentrates on presenting herself as unflappable. But the softness won't leave her voice and now she is genuinely happy that she can tell him the results of the tests were normal. She recognizes the moment he begins to relax, and she feels better too.

Lilly walks toward the curtain, Sam trailing behind her and she feels worried for him, for this floppy haired boy. _Grown man, obviously_, she corrects herself and wonders again why he tugs at her. He's exhausted, that's obvious. Worried for his brother which, as unsentimental as she prefers people believe she is, she likes to see. He's spilled his guts to her, which for what ever reason doesn't seem typical for him, o_f course not_, she tells herself, _hunters aren't chatty, _but neither does it make her uncomfortable and she finds it strange that it isn't more strange.

She pulls back the curtain and between his sitting on the side of the bed with his face in profile and her grabbing and reading the chart at the foot of his gurney, it is fully a minute before she looks at him. But when she does her breath is gone.

"You look just like her." Dean and Lilly's voices overlap.


	5. Chapter 5

Awkward is one word for it. Tense seems inadequate. Neither uncomfortable nor charged nor 'kinda scary' does it justice. Escalating. That word resonates. The 60 second, and counting, stare down that began with _You look just like her_ isn't showing any signs of letting up and Sam is going to have a heart attack. Especially now that he recognizes the very real threat of challenge in Dean's eyes.

He is about to speak when the exam area curtain is pulled back again by the doctor they had seen when they first came in.

"Rayne, this case isn't surgical." He says.

Lilly stays quiet a second or two longer meeting Dean's gaze without a flicker of weakness, "No, probably not." She drops her eyes from Dean and turns to Dr. Marcus, but Sam can tell that if Dean thinks he's won the little battle of wills, it was only because she let him.

"Something change?" Marcus reaches for the chart, which she hands over before walking off, saying "No." over her shoulder.

Sam looks at Dean who won't meet his eyes, who is already looking for his shirt and nodding politely, absently, as the other doctor begins to say something about angina. _Probably just an anxiety attack, _Sam hears vaguely as he steps into the ER hallway and scans from side to side for a glimpse of her.

He searches up and down and for the next twenty minutes around the entire main floor of the hospital before he finds himself back at the admissions desk. Dean is leaning against the wall, right leg bent, foot flat against the hospital green brick, arms crossed over his chest. He's staring at his shoes and only looks up when Sam is standing in front of him.

"What the hell was that?" The younger brother demands.

"I dunno, d'ya see her take off? We spooked her." Dean smiles and raises his eyebrows likes he's proud of himself for getting somewhere, "We spooked her."

"Of course we freaking spooked her, you jerk, you've got her face." Sam is incredulous. "And what the hell are you talking about? That wasn't the point, was it? And answer me, what the hell was that back there?" Sam's chest is heaving with anger, with fear, with Christ, he has no idea what else, and the only reason he doesn't slam Dean right into the wall is that he can see that Dean is trying. Dean is trying to be cool and slick and act like he's on top of his game, but his big brother is looking decidedly smaller. Dean's face is too pink and his hands shake and when Sam grabs his arm and wrenches it from around him.

"Dean?"

"I freaked out, OK? I didn't know what to say." He barks, then lowers his voice to a whisper. "What the hell, Sam? Who is she? It's like looking at _mom_." The word is pregnant with questions and pain and longing.

Neither of them wants to give the answer on the tip of their tongues and Dean pushes off the wall, stalking out to the car. They are silent as the Impala comes into view and Sam's mind is spinning so quickly he thinks he might need an ER after all.

"Who are you?" She silently appears, scaring them both, making Dean drop the keys he was about to unlock the door with. Sam spins on his heel toward the sound of her voice.

"Jesus!" Dean yelps. "Give a guy some warning."

"Who. Are. You?" She is standing behind the car now, clearly waiting for an answer.

"I'm Dean, this is Sam Win…"

"Who are you to _me_." She doesn't flinch and the feeling of standoff is back.

"We don't know." Sam answers, calmly.

"Why are you here?"

Dean sputters and picks up his keys and Sam knows in the corner of his mind he should be amused by the fact that this little slip of a woman is making his brother stammer, but he has enough sense to file that away for later. He also knows Dean is stalling, thinking of something to say, some angle to use to get her to talk and suddenly Sam has had enough.

"She sent us." He states plainly. Dean's head snaps around giving him a furious what-the-hell face. "Mary. Our mother. I think she's our mother. All of ours."

That took the wind out of Lilly's sails, Sam thinks. "My mother's name is Laura." Her voice is stained with a pale kind of rage, and old sounding anger.

Sam reaches into his back pocket and her stance changes immediately. She's ready to run or to fight and Sam remembers before, the way she moved to shield the little girl and he slows his movements immediately. "I'm reaching for my wallet. I have a picture."

Lilly nods and her posture relaxes. A little. Sam fishes the old photo out of his wallet and hands it to her. She steps around the car and takes it warily, two arms lengths between them, Dean's anxious mute eyes darting from one to the other.

Lilly doesn't take her eyes off the picture. Holds it with both hands. Swallows thickly. Then straightens abruptly, shoves the picture back at Sam and strengthens her voice, "She's alive?"

Sam didn't know what he was expecting her to stay, but that wasn't it.

"No." Dean finally speaks.

"Then how…" Lilly starts to ask then catches herself, shakes her head, and they all know the answer to that question is too weird and long for the parking lot, "never mind." Her beeper goes off abruptly and she wrenches it from her waist. "I have to go."

"But.." Sam begins.

"Come to my house. Wednesday. 6pm." She starts to walk away and turns as she swiftly passes on Sam's side of the car, "I assume you know where I live by now."

Dean nods. They watch her run back to the ER and they drive back to the motel, their minds reeling, questions burning. But their words are spent.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was really hoping that the feeling of exhaustion that came over him watching Lilly walk away would have lasted a little while longer. No such luck. Maybe they should have turned the lights on when they came back. Maybe he should have taken a shower and gotten ready for bed. Maybe they should have at least turned on the TV instead of just collapsing with their coats still on.

An hour later and they are still flat on their backs, staring at the ceiling not bothering to fake sleep. Sam is getting steadily itchier and itchier to talk, to discuss, to dissect, to have an answer. Dean is getting steadily itchier and itchier to jump and smash and scream and run until he is out of breath and ready to collapse. Or to have a tiny little stroke that wipes out the last two months. But they just lie still, on parallel beds, thinking parallel thoughts and filling the room with an elephant named Lilly. The stillness is a lie and it can't last.

"She seems nice." Sam ventures. He's learned over the years to sound more definite, less like he's asking Dean to agree with him. But that's what he's doing and Dean knows it. And Dean rejects the comment with silence.

"I like her." Sam says again after a minute or two.

_Of course you fucking like her. _

Dean should know by now that the silence only makes Sam more desperate to talk. Usually he likes to torture Sam this way, but right now it's backfiring. And Sam's questions are like a leaky faucet, driving Dean insane, and he knows that Sam has stopped asking for approval and his oversized brain is now just running on its own, looking for more to know.

"What's her husband like?"

_I am not talking about this._

Silence.

"What do you think happened that got him hunting?"

_I am NOT talking about this._

More silence.

"Have you called Dad?"

_I am definitely not talking to him about this._

A huff escapes Dean and Sam has his opening and suddenly the plumbing bursts and the questions soak him, "He knows something Dean. He knows her. It can't be an accident. How long do you think he's known? Her father must know something. What's his story?" Sam gets up, his desire for a live conversation, a spoken answer, permission to like her forgotten, and moves to his laptop to check out Derek Rayne again.

Sam taps away on the computer, lost in his research for the time being and Dean closes his eyes and drinks in the silence, ignoring the fact that Sam will have more questions, less a leaking faucet and more like water torture, once the keys stop tapping.

_Of course Sam fucking likes her. A perfect little hunter's family. She has a normal job. A respected one. She's his chance. She's his proof that their lives were totally screwed. That Dad was an asshole (and let's ignore for a moment that I think he's an asshole for lying all these years about this). That I'm a loser and that Sam was right all along. And then he'll want me to understand, to see how things could be different, to turn on Dad, to BE something, 'cause I'm not enough. See Dean, see?_

He know it's childish, he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it's not her fault. That she's in the same boat they are, but he lets it come. He gets angry with her (much easier than being angry at Dad), he resents her (much easier than resenting Sammy), he hates her because she is everything Sam is right about. And if Sam is right and Dad is wrong then Dean is wrong too. Worse than wrong. Stupid and docile and just following along. And the little part of his brain that has suspected it all along can't take it. Doesn't want to. It can't all have been for nothing because this life is all he has and _he_ can't be nothing. Or at least he can't prove that he's nothing. So he lets the anger come and he hates her.

Sam's voice is stunned, the implications dawning on him. "We have sister. A brother-in-law. A niece. Dude, we're uncles." And Sam is light and happy. "Dean, we have a family."

And that's all he can take. Not the truth, not the implications, not the growing Christmas card list. It's the happiness in Sam's voice. The first goddamn thing that has made Sam genuinely happy sounding since Jessica's death is the thought of new people. Other people. And suddenly being the old toy after Christmas morning is more than Dean can stand.

"Yeah Sam. We do. Already." The blue light of the laptop screen isn't enough for Sam to see Dean's clenched jaw or his shaking hands and so perhaps the fact that they've been out of practice for four years is why the sound of Dean's dangerously low voice doesn't register as a clear enough warning sign.

"I know, I know," Sam goes on, oblivious, innocent, "but we have a sister."

Dean rips himself from the bed and stalks to Sam. As badly as he wants to, he doesn't touch him, doesn't pound on him, doesn't beat Sam until he's as afraid as Dean is. "No. We don't." He turns on his heels and grabs the motel key from the dresser. "We have some total fucking stranger, who's nothing to us. I don't care who she looks like or what she does for a living. She is nothing."

Dean rips open the motel door and stalks to the bar a block away. He gets drunk, he gets laid, and then he goes back and gets into a fight over the first thing that sounds like it could lead to one. At five in morning he staggers back to the motel and Sam is waiting up sporting the mother of all condescending bitchfaces. And Dean is ready to go again, ready to fight, ready to scream. And this part has clearly come back to Sam, like riding a bike, after four years. He lifts his left hand in a gesture that says _shut up, don't worry, we're not talking about it_ and then lifts his right hand to show Dean the first aid kit dangling from his fingers and Dean walks silently to the bathroom and avoids the sight of his own face.


	7. Chapter 7

The day one finds out one's parent is not in fact perfect is not a good day. When this realization is put off for 34 years, the day is proportionately uglier than average. When the person who finally finds it out at the age of the 34 is a Legacy trained hunter, an overachieving surgeon and an exhausted woman whose blood sugar has tanked because it's been a day since she's eaten, the ugliness is exponential.

Lilly manages to get through the rest of her shift without thinking about Sam or Dean, thanks to a very nasty car accident that kept the ER and the OR humming for 18 straight hours - carnage is currently her very favourite thing in the world. But the unsettled, my life is suddenly not what I thought, everything is upside down mood persists. She saves two lives, loses one, frightens interns, and makes one med student, who can't see or is too arrogant to read the 'Approach at your own risk' neon sign on Lilly's forehead, cry like a kindergartner. Not her normal style, but since it's the med student that thinks she knows everything about everything, Lilly forgives herself. But the blissful oblivion of internal injuries, blood and suturing is gone and there is nothing else to keep her distracted, which is how she finds herself sitting in her driveway, squeezing the steering wheel and clenching her jaw for a good ten minutes before she's finally ready to face Nick.

It's been 24 hours since he's last seen his wife and though she should be dead to the world, she's revved and angry. The violence with which she attacks the laundry is the thing that confirms that Lilly will need some 'handling' if he's going to find out what's wrong tonight, and he knows he'd better. This mad is the most impressive one he's seen in some time. Without so much as a word, he waits out the fabric softener tantrum; he ignores the grumbling about Issabelle having been allowed to sleep in her little red Wellingtons; he smiles politely while she distractedly pushes spaghetti around her plate and once he can see she won't actually tear him a new one, he takes her hand, leads her to the couch, pours her a generous glass of wine and listens as she pours out the entire story and the list of things she's going to do to her father once he's back in the country.

"Wow." He says rather anticlimactically.

"I haven't thought about her in years." Lilly realizes.

"And how are we doing with that?" Nick asks tentatively. Her mother has never been a open subject of discussion.

"I am ignoring it, for the moment. You can 'do' anyway you please with it." Sarcasm. Never a good sign.

"You're back to snippy. Wanna take another shot at the dryer door?" He tries to keep it light. He knows she's hit her limit and he's grateful when she slumps back against the sofa cushions rather than taking him up on his offer. He has a feeling they would need a new dryer.

"This could be a coincidence." He offers and brushes his hand along her hair.

"Would that it were." She sips, "It'll be confirmed by tomorrow afternoon. They'll be here at 6."

"You invited them here?" Nick thinks twice and realizes he's neither surprised nor concerned that they will be in house. They are John Winchester's sons after all. Regardless of anything else.

"Nick," she looks at him seriously, "swear. Promise me. Swear on your daughter that you didn't know."

"I promise." He knows she's not done drawing out his guarantee, but it doesn't offend him. She's tired and on auto pilot and she hasn't even scratched the surface of how horrible this apparent betrayal on her father's part is going to make her feel and the thought of it makes him want to give her anything.

"He tells you everything, Nick."

"Not this."

"You've met Dean. He looks like me. Like her."

"One, I'm a boy. If he looked like Pamela Anderson I wouldn't notice the resemblance. The rack maybe, but not the resemblance. Two, the last time I saw your mother I was six and I haven't seen so much as a picture of her for at least ten years. I wouldn't know if either of you looked like her." He pulls her to him. "I'm as sick of Legacy secrets as you are and God knows we've heard enough of them. We promised each we wouldn't keep them and we won't. I had no idea. I promise."

"Swear." She's crying, silently. Not so much crying as too tired to stop the tears leaking out of her eyes. Either way he knows he needs to get her to bed before the next wave of pissed off keeps her up for a week.

"I swear." He holds her close and kisses the top of her head, "And unless there's some damn good reason they didn't tell you, I'll hold Derek down while you do that thing with the wolves."

She snorts a laugh and sniffles. "I have brothers, Nick." She pulls back to look at him, wide eyed, asking for an answer.

"They might not be, you don't have the proof yet." He offers, lamely he knows. "This could be something else."

"Thanks for trying." She smiles and he kisses her, conceding the fact that life around here is about to get more interesting. Well, interesting for them, painful, uncomfortable and screwed for John and Derek.

"Let's get you to bed then." He stands and pulls her to her feet, "This is going to be a long week."


	8. Chapter 8

They stand at her front door, Sam holds flowers and takes a breath before he rings the bell.

"I can't believe you made me stop for those." Dean doesn't not so much grumble as tries to speak viciously through his teeth.

"I just.." Sam huffs out a breath and rings the bell, "shut up."

"It's not like we've got cash lying around the car." Dean tilts his head and gives the house, the property, the drive, the air around this expensive, imposing, sweaty palm factory the once over. "Not like some people." He's already decided several things about Lilly. She's a snob. She's an English snob, whatever that means, he just thinks it sounds worse. She's condescending and boring and stuffy and controlling and all manner of things Dean has never had patience for. Actually, he attributes to her every quality he finds remotely annoying but ignores conveniently the ones that give her any credit for making him nervous.

"Don't make me check your pockets before we leave." Sam orders and before Dean can utter a comeback, the door opens.

"Hi. Come on in." Nick opens the door holding a dark haired little girl with green eyes, who smiles coyly and buries her head in her father's neck. She's wearing a pink tutu, pink tights, red Wellington boots and a tiny faded Ramones t-shirt and Dean just manages to catch himself and control a smile before his brain registers that just because she's not dressed like a Pottery Barn ad doesn't make her the daughter of anyone he would like.

"This is Issabelle. Issy." Issabelle has gotten over her shyness and regards both men openly and, if one could attribute the quality to a one and a half year old, critically. Sam smiles and waves at her, nudging Dean who not so grudgingly does the same. "Issabelle this is Dean, and this must be Sam." He's smiles apologetically at the tallest man for his singsongy baby voice and takes his hand, switching back to grown up conversation, "Nice to meet you, Sam. You're dad's told me a lot about you."

Sam is taken aback and Dean enjoys it for a minute, _see, not all bad, bitch_.

"Nice to meet you to, Nick." Sam stands a bit awkwardly now.

"Dean, it's been a while." Nick puts his daughter down and she beelines to the back of the house.

"Yeah." Dean clears his throat and shakes Nick's hand. He behaves decidedly more civilized than he feels, "couple of years, I think."

"I'm surprised you remember at all." Nick is taking Sam's coat, "you weren't in such good shape the last time." Nick jokes, "I helped your dad carry him home from a bar."

Dean ignores the lash of mirth from his brother. "Really?" Sam's interest piqued.

"No one's ever held your hair back, princess?" Sharper than he intends, but his footing suddenly doesn't feel firm.

"That how you got the shiner or are you hunting something in town I should know about?" Nick the hunter is serious and appraising and for the first time since getting out of the car, Dean can finally relate to something. "You know besides the ..." Nicks waves his hand in circles in the air gesturing vaguely at the 'situation'.

"Just blowing off steam." Dean says. Sam snorts his still present disapproval.

Nick laughs. "I hope you guys haven't eaten." He hangs up their coats but they don't move from the entrance hall.

"Smells great, but you didn't have to go to any trouble." Sam begins to protest.

"Cooking keeps her from freaking out." Nick motions with his head toward the kitchen behind him. "Trust me, this is _a lot_ less trouble."

All three stand still for a moment, ill at ease, looking at one another, none anxious to dive into the giant sucking chest wound this evening might become. "We're going to have to go in there eventually." Nick offers, but doesn't move.

Sam and Dean nod mutely, still as statues.

"How about a drink?" Nick offers more from his own need to knock back a glass of calm than concern for their nerves.

"Sounds delightful." Lilly emerges from a hallway behind Nick. She's wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans, which is the eighth outfit she's tried on in an effort to look as though she's put no effort into this whatsoever.

Issabelle comes running behind her, waving a magic wand wildly in the air. She smacks Dean across the knee with it pronouncing him 'Prince Charming', which sounds more like 'price garbage', and stands looking at him as though he should know to pick her up. And he does. Eye to eye, she considers him carefully. "Dee!" she smacks his head with her wand and laughs.

"Apparently you look like fun." Lilly quips.

Dean behaves aloofly, adopts a tone that covers his unease. "Yeah. That's me."

"Uh, these are for you." Sam hands Lilly the flowers and she regards them for a second before it occurs to her to take them.

"Thank you, Sam." Her throat closes slightly and though it takes her a moment, she finally smiles genuinely at the unexpected gesture."These are beautiful."

Lilly is extraordinarily grateful to her bossy little daughter when Issabelle orders Dean to walk forward and commands everyone "Go!". Nick pours drinks and they stand around the kitchen in a painfully awkward silence that Lilly finally just can't tolerate.

"We could just drop the niceties and get down to it." She pierces Dean with a gaze, letting him know who's turf they're on.

"So, we think we're all one big happy family?" Dean's sarcasm is back and any softness he may have felt has disappeared with the flight of Issabelle from his arms.

"We _know_." Lilly produces a file folder and hands it to him. "Coincidences and resemblances are fascinating, but DNA is definitive. You and I are…"

"Where the hell did you get my DNA?" Dean interrupts before she can say the word and it's so back on between them.

"Marcus took your blood in the ER. I _borrowed _the rest of it from the lab." Her gaze is cutting, but Dean's temper rises to the occasion.

"Took it." He challenges.

"Excuse me?"

"Took my sample. Without asking, without permission." He couldn't care less how or that she took the sample, but damned if she thinks she running this show.

A cold sharp response is on the tip of her tongue, but she knows better and even if she didn't the look on Nick's face is warning enough. "You're right." She lowers her voice, but not her eyes. "You're right. I shouldn't have just…" She takes a breath, "I'm sorry."

And damned again if she hasn't taken the upper hand from him. Dean tries to raise some rage against her, but her apology came from nowhere, unexpected, unwelcome.

Her voice is gentler when she looks to Sam, "Sam, I didn't have a sample for you, but unless there's some question of your parentage," she looks back to a cold, belligerent faced Dean and just like that she feels edgy and angry and nya-nya again, "I think we're all one big snarky family. So let's sit down and eat and you can tell me how you ended up here."


	9. Chapter 9

The table groans under the weight of stew, potatoes, vegetables, salad, bread, wine bottles, beer bottles and coffee and chocolate cake. Sam talks. Dean eats. Nick mediates. Lilly listens and flits her eyes between them. After the sniping and tension, they look just a bit small sitting in her house, surrounded by her family, and it occurs to her that these men, these boys as she can't help but see them, are her family, her brothers. She is bound to them.

Sam starts at the beginning and by the time Issy has dessert all over her face, Lilly has heard the Winchester Chronicles up to their appearance on her front door this evening. He is methodical, thorough, but animated and now he's more relaxed. He's a talker, an historian and he is in his element here. His cadence rises and falls with the pace of his stories and the longer he talks the less he shields himself. Kansas, training, hunting, moving, Stanford, Jessica, John's disappearance and finally now, here, this conversation.

Dean is silent, stoic and hard and he never quite settles down. She watches him watch Sam talk. He's quick, his face, his body, even the air around him cover his reactions in record time, but she's a keen observer of detail too. Pride flickers across his face at the mention of his father, at his own accomplishments as a hunter, at Sam's academic success. The mention of Stanford though, laces his eyes with loneliness. Responsibility, weight, guilt are there all the time and if she knew him better she'd be sure that a sort of insecurity underlies everything too. He's the tough guy with the gooey centre, big shoulders to carry the weight of the world, sword up to protect everyone around him, shield up to protect himself. But his world is smaller than his brother's and though it probably suits him in private, among others, among them, he looks as though he feels it acutely, like he fears it being made smaller or of being squeezed out of it altogether. He holds tightly, unconditionally to what is important to him, and Lilly judges that his family and their life ranks high and above whatever is in second place, if there is a second place. Lilly finally sees him. He reminds her of Nick.

"Hmm" escapes her as they talk about John's absence in Lawrence.

"Hmm what?" Dean jumps, defensive, ready to attack, but three glasses of wine and this new view of him later, Lilly is more patient, less prepared to bite back. Still she smirks when she catches Sam kick him swiftly under the table. She falls a little bit in love with them in these seconds, these unguarded instants. She falls in love with them the way she does with Issy when she catches her daughter singing to herself or laughing or playing with Nick without knowing she is being watched.

"Lawrence was two months ago?" she asks pensively.

"Yeah. And we talked to him about two weeks later, he called from Northern California." Sam sits forward in his chair.

"That's right. He was here around then." Lilly gazes through them, tries to recall details, scans her mind, looks to Nick to confirm the timing. Isabelle climbs into her lap and she balances her absently while recalling the visit. "He was here for about a week. He stayed at my father's. Lots of brandy and closed doors, I never did find out what they were on about. Something though, because suddenly your dad was gone and my father on the next flight to England."

"Any idea why?" Dean is serious, calculating.

"None. Evidently he doesn't tell me everything." Zero to sarcastic bitch in one sentence flat. At least Dean huffed out a knowing almost-laugh in response.

"So," and Sam hesitates, he's been dying to ask, "our mother.." the word drops from his lips clumsily and whether she tries to stop it or not, her back is up.

"I don't know the first thing about her." What she wouldn't give for this subject to be closed, but she has never been naïve. This is why they are here.

They wait, Sam unsure of how to start, Dean clearly biting his tongue. She breaths deeply, drinks more wine, lets Issy crawl from her lap into Nick's.

"She left before I was three. I never saw her again. I know my father looked for her. I know she broke his heart and then, when I was about 15, he just stopped. We never really talked about her. I just never wanted to know."

"You never wanted to know?" Dean is incredulous and she is having a hard time not snapping back. "I don't believe you wouldn't be curious."

"Neither did a string of therapists, but Dean, I. Was. Three. She left. I have no memory of her. I don't know what it was like to know her and I wasn't interested in chasing the ghost of someone who didn't want to know me either." Lilly is harsh and cold and brokers no challenge. "She didn't want me. Why would I waste my time?"

"Do you remember anything about her? Anything at all?" Sam asks, oblivious, focused, "I mean obviously she wanted us to find you."

Lilly has willfully ignored that little fact for two days but now her throat constricts and despite seeing red a tear escapes and she sips her wine again to dull the anger to gray.

"She smelled of lemons. I remember that." She answers flatly, truthfully, but dismissively. "I think."

She sees Dean back off immediately, she even sees his eyes whip quickly to Sam, almost warning him to stop. He speaks before Sam can, "Did your father hunt before she left?"

"He's not a hunter, not really. Not the dirty hands part of it, though he's capable." She answers. "He's a scholar. A Guardian."

They look at her as though she's stopped speaking English.

"Sorry, a what?" Dean asks.

"He's the precept of the San Francisco house. He can hunt, has done. But that's left mostly to us. The Order and The Daughters."

Again they stare at her as though she were an X-File.

"You have no idea what we're talking about, do you?" Nick realizes. "You don't know about the Legacy?"


	10. Chapter 10

_The Legacy_. The words hang in the air. Dean knows something big, something fraught is about to happen to them. To him. To the life they live. As though their life weren't big and fraught enough. As though the implications of his mother having had an entirely other life weren't big and fraught enough.

_Something is about to change and it will never change back_, echoes in his head. One would never be able to tell by looking, never guess by the life they lead, but change makes Dean nervous. Makes him anxious, knots his belly, makes him feel manic. He knows how to hide it. He jokes. He says 'yes sir'. He soldiers on, good little soldier, but every time things slip past his control, like they are now, there is turmoil inside that overwhelms him.

He looks at Sam, at Nick, and finally at her. They stare each other down. He has a crushing need to beat her at this, to win this…whatever it is, win back his grip. He has to be the strongest, the oldest, the protector, the one. Because it's who he is. Because if he's not, what else is he?

She's still looking at him and it's hard to think. His mind begs for an escape, his heart shouts for things to go back to the way they were a week a go, and it makes concentrating hard. But he won't step down. She's a blur, the air around her is hazy, but he makes himself look, focus. Pretend.

But he is so tired. He rubs at his shiner and breaks the suffocating silence, "I'm guessing this isn't a funny story."

She stands in response and waves off Sam's offer to help clear the table. "Why don't we sit in the other room. I'll get the good brandy."

They get up from the table and Issy jumps from her father's lap and leaps at Dean. Her little hand snakes into his big calloused one and he looks down at her, surprised. She just smiles back at him, like smiling at this total stranger, this rough haggerred looking hostile man in her house is the most natural thing in the world and he finds himself smiling back and hoisting her up into his arms again. She so small, and pretty and she gently runs her hand over his bruised eye.

"Boo boo." She says seriously and it breaks his heart. This tiny little thing with this soft little hand and these big eyes, hazel like her mother's, like his own, is showing him more concern than his own father has in months and suddenly he feels crushed under the weight of this crumb of affection. The crumb that broke the hunter's back.

He feels so volatile, so unstable, so ready to break, but he makes sure his mask is in place because he can feel Sam's eyes on him, Sam's warm _awwww_ smile on him and damned if he's going to cave into Sam's look-we-have-a-family-wonderful-fucking-life fantasy. He resists. He likes his life the way it is. He doesn't need anyone else in it. There isn't any room for more people to worry about. So he smiles at the little girl, he won't permit the word_ niece_ to cross his mind, and just plays with her. Just a little girl. Just a little girl.

Nick shows them to the couch and they sit. Dean can't hear what he and Sam are talking about, because it's all the strength he has to keep from losing it, from running away, from falling in love with Issy. She plants herself in his lap and shows no signs of understanding that his control is slipping. She just smiles at him and half sings and half speaks nonsense words and little sentences and he pretends to be absorbed to buy himself some time to get himself together.

And he needs to, because he's here until the end of this. Dean Winchester doesn't run. So he does what he knows, he lets the anger at Lilly, the rejection of her, well up again just in time for her to bring in a tray of coffee and brandy. He focuses on Issy again and avoids Lilly's gaze even though she stands in front of him. She doesn't move, just holds out her hand for a moment before he looks up. She holds out a towel, bundled around something and her smile is kind, and her eyes are gentle and she's offering him a truce and he so desperately doesn't want it.

She motions for him to take the towel. "It's ice. For your eye. It looks sore." It's all too much like seeing his mother again.

"I'm fine." He's amazed his voice is steady, mean and not weak.

"No. Boo boo." Issy chimes in. "Boo boo. Boo boo." And he laughs despite himself and he takes the towel and lets Issy help him hold it against his eye, like he's relented for her sake and not his own. Holding Issy reminds him of holding Sam in his lap at this age. He remembers acutely the feeling of big brotherness, protectiveness, purpose and even as he grows attached to her, he feels a tinge of panic at the thought of giving his brother up to the woman in front him. And the instant the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it aside, like jerking his hand away from a hot element.

Sam sits beside him as Lilly passes out cups, and he ignores his little brother's glare for the time being, knowing there will be no escaping it once they leave. He feels claustrophobic and so desperately alone for an instant that he's sure he won't be able to stop himself jumping up and storming out. But he needs to know. As badly as he doesn't want to, he knows needs to know what she has to say.

And mercifully Lilly sits down and begins.

"The Legacy is a society of hunters, essentially. An underground society. Well, not so much underground, as in the shadows. It's all very "Skull and Bones" in its way." She waves her hand in the air in a gesture Dean is beginning to associate with her. "We exist around the world, working from central houses. One in most major cities: here, New York, Boston, Montreal, London, Cairo, Paris, Hong Kong, Mumbai, the list goes on. That's what I meant by the San Francisco house. My father is the precept here. The head of the house. He's responsible for what we do on this end of the world. What we hunt, how we hunt, keeping it quiet, making sure no one gets hurt. We answer to him and he answers to the head house in London.

"We have existed for 1200 years. At one point we were part of the Illuminati. Our ranks have included scholars, scientists, politicians, businessmen, theologians and laymen. Our purpose has been the same since the beginning, the same as yours."

"Hunting the supernatural." Sam offers.

"I don't like that term. '_There is nothing outside of nature, only what we know of nature._'" She quotes.

Sam smiles. His comfort here, with her, in this house of normal people, smart people, people like him, people he likes, this life Sam wants to belong to chaffs at Dean, squeezes at his heart, makes him lonely.

"Albert Einstein?" His little brother guesses.

"Dana Scully." Lilly smiles mischievously and Sam laughs and Dean snaps.

"Get to the part about mom." His voice is direct and cold and piercing as a firing squad.

Lilly's smile vanishes and she fixes him with a glare. She's about to fire back, but her eyes shift to her daughter and she relents when they both realize the little girl has dozed off obliviously in his arms. He sees Lilly still, he sees a practiced, studied calm cross her features and for an instant he is afraid of her. Knows she is someone worthy of being afraid of.

"OK." Her voice is like steel and he doesn't care. He dreads with every cell what she's going to say and he just wants it over with.


	11. Chapter 11

She would really like to smack Dean. Not for being a little bastard. Not for pushing her and glaring at her and challenging her. Not for reacting in a way that she herself would likely react. She wants to smack him for insisting she get to the bits she wishes she didn't have to explain. For making her talk about _her_. She knows if she waits a few seconds longer, Nick will step in, will do all the talking, will let her off the hook. But she can't let them hear it from him. _Odd, this feeling of responsibility to them_, she thinks fleetingly, _but there it is_.

She knows her voice is cold, knows Dean probably thinks it's directed at him, but she can sort that out later. _First, finish this, get through to the end, then shove it away again for another hundred years_.

"The Legacy admits members by birth or by invitation. Nick and I were born in. As were you, I guess." She smiles ironically at them.

"Are all the members hunters?" Sam asks.

"Mostly. All of us born to it hunt, we all train to hunt from the time we're young. Not everyone keeps it up and often those that are invited don't hunt. Some are scholars, researchers, they study what we do, what we hunt. They track the creatures we go after, learn them. They collect artifacts, documents, relics, objects, legends, anything to sort the truth out from the mythology. They are the scientists. My father was scholar before he was a precept, he's an anthropologist. And he still researches. The precepts, like my father, his father, like our grandfather, also make the decisions about what gets hunted and when. "

"Is our grandfather," Sam stutters, and she realizes this is even more family they are just learning about. "…Dad always said mom's parents died."

"He died when I was very young, before either of you was born. Our grandmother died too, before I was born. She died hunting. She was a Daughter of the Order."

Dean rolls his eyes but she snaps at him before he can speak, "Yes, I appreciate this all very cloak and dagger, Dean, but these little titles go back hundreds of years. It's the 'grand Legacy romance' and for those of us born to this life, these fables, it… it keeps you interested when you're young. Makes you feel part of something important, private, secret…you know, when you'd rather be getting shit faced at high school with normal people, instead of training at the arse crack of every dawn. When you'd rather be living regular, oblivious lives. Before you're old enough to understand you have an obligation."

Dean shoots Sam a look she doesn't understand, but he's shut up and relaxed a bit and it takes her aback.

"Our mother," _our_ mother, _your _mother, _my _mother, _the_ mother_, her, she_, she remembers a therapist once remarking_ meaningfully_ that she never just said 'mother', "was a Daughter of the Order. Like her mother, like her sister, like I am, like Issabelle will be. We are, for a lack of a less _Lord of the Rings_ sounding explanation, warriors. We are stronger, faster and heal more quickly than normal people. We are sent to hunt the really nasty little bitches roaming the dark."

Dean laughs, incredulous, "Are you telling me not only do we have a sister, but she's Buffy the fucking Vampire Slayer?"

"Yes. I am." And then she laughs because it sounds shagging ridiculous, she starts to laugh hard and then Sam joins her, but Dean holds out and she has to hand it to him, he's just as good as Nick was at his age, at this tough jerk routine.

"There are about a dozen of us each generation, sometimes fourteen sometimes ten, but always around twelve. Twelve this time. We are a direct line from mother to oldest daughter. The eldest girl, sometimes the next eldest as well, is marked." Lilly sits forward in her seat, draws her sleeve up her right arm and shows them her birthmark, a red line on the inside of her forearm from the inside of her elbow, down an inch or two with a short perpendicular line near the elbow bend. The same mark on her other arm. They almost look like swords. "Our mother was the second girl, her sister, your aunt, who also died when I was little, was the eldest of our grandmother, and so on and so on back at least thirty generations. Issy is marked as well," she lifts her chin toward her sleeping girl. Then it occurs to her, "Oh, you have a cousin. Kristen Adams, she's at the Boston house."

This is too much for them, she can tell. They looked stunned, exhausted, but she can't stop, can't pick this up again tomorrow and so she continues. "Anyway, we, the Daughters, are raised together, we go to school together, we train together, we're the Legacy's little army. Cradle to grave."

"But you went to school, you're a doctor." Sam interjects.

She remembers what he's told her about their lives growing up, about his 'escape', she sees the confusion, the sort of hope glinting in his eyes, and the tiny fearful glint in Dean's. "It's not the same for us, Sam. Not the same as it was for you two. We don't do this from revenge, we're born to it. We're obligated because of our…gifts. But we're encouraged to have lives, to study, to pursue things. Not so encouraged, mind you, to share anything about our lives with outsiders, or to have relationships with them. That's not encouraged, but intellectual interests, careers, yes. Otherwise our lives would be too small to contain all this. We'd go mad. It's happened in generations before us. Daughters turned, they turn against the Legacy, against each other. The Guardians realized a long time ago we couldn't pursue this like zealots. And anyway, it doesn't hurt to have a doctor, a computer geek, a lawyer etc. around in this…shall we say 'line of work'. You know, we're encouraged to pursue lives useful to the Legacy. Our mother was a physicist."

"Who are the Guardians?" Dean asks.

"My father is Kristin's. William Sloan, the head of the London house is mine. They train us, teach us, guide us while we're growing up. Our own little Gileses." She laughs.

"Where did you go to school?" Sam asks and she sees his question is automatic, something his brain is producing to keep from shutting down.

"Oxford as an undergraduate. All the Daughters do, have always done. St. Hilda's college. Then McGill University for medicine, in Montreal. I was at the Montreal house at the time."

"Our mother went there too?" Dean's voice is soft.

"Yes. Oxford. She did."

"Why did she leave? You, I mean…" Sam asks quietly, then realizes his misstep, "the Legacy, I mean, I'm sorry."

"That's alright." She's gentle with him, "I don't know, Sam. I don't. And if my father does, he never told me. Look, the way we're raised, it may sound nicer than the way you were, but it's not that different. The obligation is still the same, so is the risk, and to some extent, the isolation. Not everyone stays. Our mother wasn't the first ever to leave. But once you're out, you're out. There's no coming back. Maybe it was just too much for her. She was very young when I was born, maybe that was it. But I don't know." Lilly blows her bangs out of her eyes in exasperation, "Who knows."

"If she was this Daughter. If mom was Buffy, why didn't she warn Dad. If she knew what was out there…is that why the Demon killed her? Why didn't she defend herself, why didn't she fight it?" Suddenly the questions are pouring from Dean. Lilly watches him gently lift Issy from his lap and place her carefully back on the couch, but once she is safely down, Dean prowls like dangerous cat. "Why didn't Dad tell us?"

"I don't know, Dean. But it's time we find out."


	12. Chapter 12

"What do you mean 'we'?", Dean practically snarls. Sam has seen this coming all night, since the night in the ER examining area. He's even marginally impressed that it's taken Dean this long, that Lilly's managed to shoot him down a few times. But the tentative peace, if you could even use the word, wasn't going to last forever. Dean's hit the end of his restraint and Sam's pretty sure he's met his match.

Lilly speaks softly, carefully, "Nick, can you put Issy to bed, please?". Her eyes are on Dean, and Sam and Nick exchange a look that ends with Nick rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He scoops his daughter up off the couch and squeezes Sam's shoulder with a look that says, _just let them get it over with_. Sam can't believe Nick is so calm.

"Take her boots off this time, please." Again, Lilly's not looking anywhere but at Dean. Nick carries his daughter down a hallway with a wave of his hand over his head as acknowledgement and as soon as he's out of sight Sam has the briefest impulse to follow him. But he stays with Dean. Either to calm his brother or save him, he's not sure yet.

"Alright. Whatever you have to say. Say it." She demands of his older brother.

"There's no _we_ here. There's me and Sam and Dad. Whatever his reasons are for not telling us, and I'm not saying I'm impressed, but whatever they are, I'm sure they're good." Sam can't believe what he hears Dean saying, can't believe that even now his loyalty to his father trumps all of this.

"_We _had no idea who the hell you were when we came here. And then you tell us this … story, this impossible freaking story about secret societies and Orders and our mother. _My_ mother. A mother you don't even want anything to do with, you've made that crystal clear. And you just expect us to roll over and believe you? And you think there's a _we_? Are you fucking kidding me? How do we even know any of this is true? How do we know dad didn't tell us because you aren't some kind of fucking nut case? Maybe that's why mom left you."

"Dean!" _Too far, too far_, Sam thinks. His brother's voice is getting louder and more angry and he knows where this is leading, remembers the feel of the steel cross beam of a bridge digging into his back as Dean pinned him against for daring to say a word about mom.

"No, Sam. No. I know this is all fucking perfect for you. Perfect school, perfect family, perfect…perfectly good reason to spend another twenty years ragging on dad for every way he ruined your life." Sam is stunned. Not by the words, he's never understood Dean's rejection of normalcy, but he's heard it before. What stuns him is the hurt behind the statement, the raw pain radiating from Dean. And quick is that his brother masks it again with anger.

"Why the hell should either of us believe a thing you say?" Dean demands of her.

"I could easily say the same about you." Her voice is low, dangerous and smooth like the cutting edge of a blade, "My father didn't tell me about you either. Why is that? What threat do you pose? Hmmm? You came for me. You spent, what? Three? Four days following me around? You came to where I work to confront me? And now you stand in my house. My house. And accuse me of concocting a ridiculous story. Why? To impress you? To frighten you? To get my jollies? Why?"

Dean has no answer and this frightens Sam more than his rage. His brother looks cornered, backed up, eyes flashing, and this Dean, is a dangerous Dean. But either she doesn't know or she doesn't care, because she stepped up to him and stares hard up into his eyes and presses him further.

"And you're right. She. Is. Nothing to me. She left me, she left my father and I don't even remember what she looks like without pictures. I don't want to sodding talk about her. But I'm forced to, because here you are. You want answers, and I actually believe you deserve them. We all do. So the very last thing I want to do, _little boy_, is make crap up, that you can easily refute, so that you can come back later and we can talk about her some bloody more."

No one but their father has ever spoken to Dean this way and gotten away with it. Sam has seen Dean leave quivering and sobbing teachers, police, waitresses and all manner of authority in his angry wake, but this little woman has him by the short hairs and he's fading. He's watching his brother fade before his eyes. And as quickly as Sam marshals some anger against her for doing this to his brother, she backs off, as if sensing she's hurt him and doesn't want to and Sam lets her finish.

"Our fathers, both of them, didn't tell us." Her voice is still low, but the tone now is appeasing, quiet, reasoning, "I suspect they have known for close to a decade and they kept it from us. So as angry as I am in this instant, as badly as I would like never to have to discuss my mother again, I want answers and you can't be so blind or angry as to not, can you?"

Sam finally finds his voice and steps in, "Of course we want to know." He puts a hand on Dean's chest and pushes him back toward the couch. "And no, we don't think you're making this up." Dean snaps his head up toward Sam, but Sam just sits down beside him, thigh pressing against thigh, a quiet sign of solidarity that Sam suddenly feels compelled to give Dean and he gently asks, "Do we?"

When Dean reluctantly shakes his head, Sam takes a steadying breath and continues, "Lilly, the demon that killed mom, killed Jessica, we've been after it for so long. For so long. And now I think my father is on to something, and I think your father is involved, too. And suddenly we're in this together. It's just ... it's a lot." Sam sighs, suddenly feeling so heavy, so tired. He turns to Dean now, trying to negotiate, trying to bring this little triangle together, "So, we really are all in this together somehow. All three of us. Maybe that's why mom sent us here. Maybe she just wanted us to know each other. I don't know." He turns back to Lilly, "We won't know until we talk to our fathers. Alright?"

"Alright." Lilly says.

"Alright?" He pleads with Dean, pressing his leg even harder against his brothers.

Dean simply nods, placated for now.

"Do you think your father knows where Dad is?" Sam asks her.

"Possibly. I'll try London in a couple of hours. As soon as I know what to say." She blows out a tired breath, "I'm not going to tell him you're here. That isn't a conversation I'm prepared to begin over the phone."

"Fair enough." Sam concedes. He's exhausted. He looks at Dean and sees that he's exhausted as well and pale in a way that makes Sam want to take him out of here. To shield him for a little while. He needs his brother to talk to him. He's needs one of those chick flick moments Dean so desperately hates. He needs his brother to just…open up a little. This is so big, so vast, he just needs to know he's in this with Dean and needs Dean to know he isn't alone.

"It's late. We should go." Sam offers and he catches a glimpse of gratitude in Dean's eyes.

"There's room upstairs, if you want to stay." Lilly offers, almost hopeful sounding, "If you're too tired to drive, I mean."

"No." Dean stands abruptly. "We should, uh…" his discomfort brings Sam to his feet too. Sam desperately wants to say yes. To talk to her longer, to get to know her, because despite everything else, he suddenly has a sister and he finds that he likes the idea. But he'll go for Dean's sake.

Nick has returned by now and stands next to his wife, "It's no trouble." Lilly offers again.

"I think we probably need…" Sam's voice trails off.

"Yeah. That's a good idea." Nick steps in.

They walk to the front door awkwardly, Nick hands them their coats and they stumble clumsily through their goodbyes. Once in the car, heading back toward the motel, Sam starts to talk, but doesn't get the chance.

"No." Dean cuts him off before his mouth has fully formed the first sound. His voice is choked and Sam knows he owes his brother something better than being alone with his thoughts.

"You don't have to talk. But you have to listen." Sam is firm, "This is crazy. All of it, I get that man, but it is what it is. We have a sister. We have another pile of questions to ask Dad and at least, maybe she'll help us find him. One step at a time. Alright?" Sam stops for a moment to gage Dean's response and when he doesn't answer Sam continues, "I like her. I know that bothers you, but I do, and I want to get to know her even if you don't. But dude, I'm not all star eyed and confused. She's not…" Sam searches for the right words because after everything that's happened in the last two months, their mother, the asylum, leaving Dean by the side of the road and then nearly losing him, all the betrayals Sam has subjected Dean to, he wants this to be just what Dean needs, deserves, to hear, "…she's not you. She didn't raise me, she hasn't been there my whole life. She isn't you and nothing will change that. We're going to find Dad, together. We're going to find the demon and kill it. Together. Whether or not she's around later, I will be. Alright?"

Dean is silent and Sam is worried that he hasn't gotten through. Then he hears the slight cough, the clearing of Dean's throat and the word whispered so low that anyone without hunter's ears might miss it, "Okay."

"Okay." Sam breaths a sigh of relief. "Let's get some sleep and find out what her father says."


	13. Chapter 13

"Does he know you're here?" She asks Sam, sitting in a booth in a diner at an unholy hour of the morning.

"He'll figure it out when he realizes the car and I are both gone. He won't be up for a couple of hours at least though." He sips hot coffee and looks sheepishly at her. "He's why I'm here."

She doesn't answer him but he doesn't feel the pressure to fill the silent air. The quiet is companionable, she's not pushing him and he's grateful. He doesn't even really know what he wants to say, just that he needed more the night before, needs her to know things about them, about Dean.

"He's…The last couple of…" Sam starts and stops several more times until she just smiles at him and puts him out of his misery.

"He reminds me of Nick." The kindness in her voice isn't what he expects, not after the way she faced Dean down last night. He finds she's generally not what he was expects. "Well, Nick's mellowed a bit, mostly because of Issy, but they seem to have the same sort of _jump into the fray, sort out why later_ about them."

"Yeah, that's Dean. Unless he's hunting." Sam nods and smiles.

"And then he's scary focused?" She asks, laughs, already knows the answer.

"Yeah." And he's impressed and grateful that she's not holding it against Dean, that she seems to like him, that they have this common ground. But he still feels the need, like a compulsion, for her to _get_ Dean, because he wants this, to know her, badly, but he's a package deal. "It's just, well, the last couple of months. They've been really hard. I never realized before that things are hard on him." He shakes his head, "That's not what I mean. Nothing's been easy for him, except maybe picking up," they both laugh.

"Yeah, definitely like Nick." She leans forward, whispers in a mock gossipy tone, "bit of slut in his twenties."

"Yeah." Sam smiles, she's easy to talk to he finds, "Things haven't been easy on him, but he's always been this, I don't know, force. My big brother. He's always had my back, you know? When I was in school, he'd beat the crap out of anyone who looked at me sideways. When we hunt he still goes through every door first. He always ran interference with me and my dad. I always thought he was Superman, bulletproof. You know?"

She nods holds her coffee cup in her hands.

"But lately, since Stanford, since Jess…" the lump in his throat still forms at the sound of her name, "since's Dad's disappeared, it's different. I mean he's still Dean, still every bit the Dean he was before I left, but I don't know…different."

"Maybe you're the one that's different." She suggests, and like it was with Jess, he finds himself astounded, after so many years of isolation, that someone else could possibly understand. That maybe he's not such a freak.

"I'm older and wiser?" His grin is self deprecating, but his face grows serious thinking about Dean again, "He struggles more. But he doesn't. I don't know how to explain it. He does everything like he used to, he sounds the same, he moves the same way, he's just more…" He searches for the right word.

"Human?" She suggests.

"I guess." He shrugs.

"Quite a bitch to find out our heroes are mere mortals." She nods and cradles her coffee again.

"I just never noticed before, maybe? It's like…he makes these stupid jokes. He's got the most juvenile sense of humour." Sam laughs and shakes his head, "I used to think he did it because it was his version of jerky charm, but now it's like a wall for him to hide behind. And yesterday, he's always done that angry confrontational thing, but last night, I don't know. It wasn't the same. I just, he's not…He's not like that." He takes a breath and tries to calm the desperation he feels rising, the absolute necessity for her to accept his brother, "He's never looked so unsteady to me as he has in the last few weeks. The last two months. He never wanted to go back to Lawrence, he won't let me even talk about what happened at the Asylum, then with what happened to Layla, I've just…I've never seen him look so old. He has always taken on responsibility for everything, I just never really understood what that meant before. What he carries around with him." Sam stops and takes a sip of coffee to keep from sobbing all of a sudden. So much of what he was saying he'd always know in the back of his mind, but it really just sinks in as he hears himself say it.

"It's OK, Sam, you don't have to.." She starts, but Sam looks at her begs her with his eyes to let him finish and she does.

He swallows and clears his throat, pleads Dean's case to her, because he has to get this out, "I know he's not really mad at you. I know he's mad at Dad and he doesn't know what to do with it. God, Dad, he worships the man, you know? He does everything he says, he follows ever little order, it doesn't matter what he thinks, if Dad disagrees, Dad's right." The familiar frustration, anger at Dean's blind obedience wells up. "He's so competent. He so knows what he's doing, but Dad comes around and that's it, like he's got no brain of his own."

"We're all children before our parents." She says quietly, like she doesn't realize she's said it out loud.

"Sorry?"

She looks up at him, and says louder, "We're all children before our parents. My father told me that once. It's true. Those dynamics, they get set down right into stone, they're so strong. You really have to go away to break free from them to learn to be yourself in any adult way. And even then, it's like a watermark on your life. It's always there when you're together."

"So going to Stanford, not talking to Dean and my dad for years, was all for nothing?" He wants to laugh at it, make it seem trivial, but the thought burns him and pains him and shames him at once.

"Not for nothing, I imagine you're a bit better read." She winks and grins, "But no, sorry, you're the bratty little brother and the mouthy rebellious son who's too smart for his own good."

He's so profoundly relieved. She so quickly puts him at ease, "How do you do that? Just know that about us?"

"Darling, I have twelve years on you."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much." She laughs at his puzzled face, "Don't be so impressed, I had inside information. Your dad used to talk about you, you know before I knew you were _you_."

"Really?" The lump in his throat grows again, aches like a bruise.

"Really." He doesn't retract when she brushes her hand sweetly over his forearm and leaves it there. "He loves you, it's all over him, like skin."

That shuts Sam up for a minute.

"I wish he had told us. I wish...I can't believe all this time and you've been less than an hour away from me." He looks down at his coffee. "Things could have been so different."

"I know. I'm so sorry about all that wasted time." They sit silently, lost in the thought of it for a moment or two.

"He threw me out, you know?" Sam can't believe his eyes are misting up. This isn't like when he and Dean fight about Dad, when he can get on the offensive, "Said that if I went, I should stay gone."

"Yeah. He's the only person who's ever said anything stupid and regrettable and been too proud to take it back. Ever." The casual sarcasm with which she says it loosens something in his chest. It feels so good not to fight about this for a change and it's the first time Sam is able to think about his father and laugh, really laugh in he can't remember how long.

"Sam, I don't know what went on, but I do know, I've learned in the last little while, that we do mad, irrational things when it comes to our children." She squeezes his arm again and he twists it out from under her palm and snakes his fingers into hers and just holds her hand. "It's no excuse, but it's true."

"Thanks." The wave of angry laugh sad angry sad laugh squeezes a tear from his eye and he brushes it away with his free hand. She sits back, sinking into her seat, but doesn't let go.

They sit quietly together, finish their coffee and spend the next half hour talking about anything else. When Sam's phone rings, he knows right away it's Dean and Lilly excuses herself to the Ladies Room. He chooses to let it go to voicemail, but he knows he won't be able to put Dean off for long, so when Lilly returns he knows, and senses she does too, that this giant chick-flick moment is over.

"So, did you talk to your father?" He asks.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean opens the motel room door. It's 6AM, Sam's been gone half an hour. Dean's pretty sure he knows where to but he's surprised to see Nick through the grubby curtained window.

"Hey." Dean steps back and lets him in.

"Hey." Nick responds handing a tray of take out coffee to Dean. Issabelle is asleep in Nick's arms.

"Lilly's gone to meet Sam." Nick motions with his chin to one of the unoccupied beds, "Can I put her down?"

"Yeah." Dean jumps to help, pulls down the sheets of Sam's bed, furthest from the door, and watches Nick tuck the little girl in, black cat pyjamas tucked into her red boots. He just stops himself brushing a gentle hand over her downy brown hair.

They sit by the formica table in the grubby kitchenette and open their coffees.

"So…" Dean starts, sipping thankfully, "This the part where you bitch me out for acting like an ass."

"Pretty much." Dean doesn't flinch under Nick's heavy unforgiving stare. It's like sitting across from his father in some ways. But it's not his father and he feels none of the six-year old fear of disappointing Nick.

So Dean sits silently, antagonistically. There is nothing to say. He's not explaining himself. He won't apologize.

"I'm not going to warn you about being nice to my wife," Nick says _nice to my wife_ in a mocking tone, like they both know the conversation is silly, "'cause she'll put you on your ass herself if you get out of line."

"I get that." Dean smirks, she is scary, he'll give her that.

Nick sits back in his chair and Dean consciously remains still under the appraisal, almost breathes out audibly when Nick finally begins. "I'm not even gonna pretend to know what any of you are going through. I'm not going to tell how you should feel." He waits a beat and goes on "I have some idea, what it was like for you growing up, from talking to your dad. I know it was no piece of cake, but I know I don't know all of it. I do, however, know all of what it was like for her."

Dean doesn't change his expression, has no compassion, won't. Her upbringing doesn't sound so bad to him and, whatever, he wants nothing to do with her anyway.

"She's the oldest. Of the Daugthers." Nick begins, "She's responsible for all of them. It all falls on her. Keeping them together, keeping them from bolting. Who does what hunt. Making sure they got trained when they were growing up, answering to the head house when something happens to one of them. All of it. And she takes it seriously." Nick takes a long sip of his coffee, "She takes everything seriously. Nothing rolls off her back."

Still nothing, Dean gives nothing, not a blink.

"And she's had all that responsibility under the weight of your mom taking off. She's the one that took the grief from the others, she's the one the Guardians, the other Daughters from your mother's generation kept their eyes on. All the time. She's the one that paid your mom's tab. She grew up having to be twice the fighter, twice the student, twice the everything because she's got this black mark on her name. And all the time she's having to prove herself over and over, she's thinking that your mother never wanted her. That she wasn't good enough."

Dean swallows, _so? Life's tough all over_. _Whatever_. But he remembers last night, her telling Sammy about obligation, he felt it then, she got it. She understands. But he still has no desire to give her any credit for it. He doesn't want to understand her, let alone give in to her. She's a threat, he feels. Her version of things is a threat to his memory of his mother, his perfect, angelic mother. A threat to the way his family is, such as it is. He's just gotten Sammy back, and despite what his kid brother says, he knows he'll be gone again once this is over. Especially now that he has these people to run to. And it hollows him out. OK, so maybe he understands feeling worthless, feeling like less. But he won't surrender his family to it. A few days is not enough time to give up all he's ever wanted.

"So while you're busy feeling like she's some hard ass intrusion, try to keep in mind you're not the only one who's life is upside down right now." And then, as if Nick can read his mind, "She's not a threat to you. She's not going to barge into your life and mess around or start demanding stuff from you. But Buddy, get used to her, cause she's not going anywhere. She's your sister. You're her responsibility now, from the second she knew who you were."

Nick puts up his hand to silence Dean's protest as the words are forming on his choked up lips, "It's who she is, dude. And I know enough about you to know you get that."

Dean's throat is thick. It's too much to take it, to expect to accept. Where the hell is his father? For the first time in his life, Dean feels like the old man isn't going to get away with a "Because I said so." He can't process this, doesn't want to. Can't think. He clears his throat.

Dean looks at Issy. Divert. Change the subject. Steer clear of feeling this. "What's with the boots?" The question had registered once or twice the night before, but obviously was pushed to the side.

"The Red Wellies." Nick laughs and silently agrees to let him have his space. "She's in a phase. Won't take them off. Before this there were about three weeks when she would only colour with blue crayons, before that she was all about her grandfather's scarf. Wouldn't give it back, wouldn't put it down."

Dean laughs, "There was about a month, when Sammy was three or four, when he only ate round food. Nothing else. We either had to have oranges or we had to use a melon baller on everything. I thought Dad was going to lose his mind."

"How's that working out for you, now? Riding with Sam again?" So, no space. It's like Nick just wants to stick his fingers in the wound and route around a bit.

Dean clenches his jaw in response.

"My brother, Jimmy, and me. We haven't talked for about 10 years. Just started again. It's a pain in the ass, trying to navigate that." Nick offers. "It's hard to trust someone after all that time. You know?" Dean can't, won't, but Nick keeps going, "That last time I saw you. He has no idea does he?"

Dean shakes his head. No Sammy has no idea what it did to him when he left, how much time he wasted in bars, drinking himself numb, puking his guts up the next day, screwing anything that walked, trying to get himself hurt during a hunt, just to feel something else, something besides being left behind, abandoned, invisible. And no, he's not going to grant Lilly any fucking credit for even maybe feeling a little bit the same way growing up. She's the threat now and he's going to hold it against her, because this fear, this sick fear of losing Sam, of him walking away, of sharing him, the only thing that he ever felt like was his his whole life, is killing him. Dean is shaking.

"She's not the enemy, Dean. She's the most powerful ally you could ask for." Dean won't meet his eyes, not while he's this close to blowing. "Anyway. Like I said, I'm not going to tell you how to feel." Nick takes another long drink of his coffee. "Lilly talked to London this morning and it's not good."

"What did her father say?" The release that the change of subject brings is palpable and Dean can suddenly breathe.

"I have no idea, but about four this morning she was at the heavy bag so hard she tore it out of the ceiling."

_Buffy_, he grants Lilly some grudging appreciation. Dean imagines plaster, steel chains, a hundred pound leather boxing bag all raining down to the ground. It sounds like fun, it suits his mood perfectly. He reaches for his cell phone and struggles against the urge to shove Nick back when he puts his hand up to stop him. "Give them some time. She'll come back here and tell you all about it."

"What did she say to you?"

"Nothing. Just stormed out after your brother called. But I know her, she'll tell you guys together. And it didn't sound like that's what Sam called to talk about."

Dean clamps down on the desperation he feels again at the two of them being alone, talking, Sam getting his emo yaya's out. Bonding, drifting from him.

Issy wakes up and stretches and lights up when she sees where she is. "Deeeee…." Her voice is sweet and groggy and she practically topples over getting out of the bed and running to him. And a ridiculously inappropriate, unbidden, unwarranted sense of peace comes over Dean and he takes it, lifts her up and laughs with her because he's just so tired of this right now.

"Looks like you might be the new Red Wellies." Nick laughs and for two hours Dean doesn't think about calling Sam.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean tries to give Sam a killer pissed off face when his little brother walks back into the motel just shy of 8:30AM, but he finds it difficult while playing monkey with a little girl.

Nick is just getting off the phone with Lilly. "She'll be about half an hour."

"She was right behind me." Sam's attention is turned from Dean to Nick and Dean is spared another isn't-that-just-so-cute face from the brother he'd like to pummel for oh so many reasons right this second.

"She went to get food." Nick smiles at their maddened faces, "She was raised in Europe, dudes. Food heals all wounds."

"Did she say anything to you?" Dean turns to Sam, game face on.

"No, said she'd rather tell us together. So we headed back here."

"Headed back from where? Where were you at five thirty in the morning?" Dean demands, all the while balancing Issy on his shoulders.

"Wehya you?" Issy demands, unwittingly signing up for Dean's team.

Sam is looking at him then to Nick then to Issy and when he fixes him with a _not-now_ stare, Dean just stares back. Nick is laughing quietly and shaking his head.

"Coffee, Dean. We went for coffee." Dean follows Sam's gaze from his face to just above him and understands they have an audience.

"At 5:30? In the morning?" His voice is both singsongy for Issabelle's benefit and hard for Sam's.

"Yup." Great. Stubborn-dig-his-heels-in Sam. Dean's favourite. Now with kiddy voice.

"At 5:30?" Well, stubborn-dig-his-heels-in-deeper Dean can play too.

"I couldn't sleep, I texted her to see if she was up and when she was, I called her. I went out to keep from waking you." Sam answers while making faces to make Issabelle laugh.

As if Dean could sleep, as if Dean had slept more than two hours at a stretch in the last week.

"So, you had three hours of coffee at 5:30 in the morning. Mustuv been good coffee, cause you don't answer your cell, and she didn't say anything." He bounces up and down and Issabelle screeches with laughter.

"Not about her father." And just like that fun time is over and Dean's stomach plunges and he feels like he used to when he was eight, nine, ten years old and his dad was two days late getting back from a hunt and he's sure, he's so sure and terrified that he's lost him for good this time. His family falling apart and apart and apart over and over.

"Guys. Down." Nick reaches for Issabelle, who goes into his arms, giggling, oblivious. "We've all, I'm sure, been up all night. We've all got raging coffee stomach. But eating each other's last nerves isn't going to fix it, so chill."

They settle down around the table, loud huffs all around, and watch Issabelle try to stuff as many raisins as possible into her mouth at one time. That takes up about three minutes. The next thirty or so pass uncomfortably as Dean's anxiety rises and rises. What the hell is it about her that makes him want to stroke out? Why can't he just calm down? Why can't he just talk to her without wanting to yell? Without wanting to cry (if he were being honest with himself)? Sam likes her. That's why. Dad's gone and Sam has new sister. And Dean's, _what? What am I?_ Another answer he doesn't have.

She knocks on the door just before Dean is ready to explode and he jumps to answer it. He's forced to take a step back when she wobbles her way through with more coffee and what looks to be her approximate body weight in bags.

"What the hell?" Dies on Dean's lips as he smells something that makes his stomach growl. Audibly.

"I stopped at the market. I may have gone a bit overboard." He takes some of the bags out of her hands and they start opening them at the table. The scent of pastry, bagels, cheese, fruit, eggs and bacon steams from various packages and even manages to cover the faintly stale motel smell and it's almost pleasant. For almost a whole minute. "And this is for you." She hands Sam an envelope.

Dean sees Sam thumb through bills and bills of cash and he turns to her ready to rip a strip off. He glares, grinds his teeth, "What the hell is this supposed to be?"

She rolls her eyes with a withering _do we really have to?_ expression, "Look, I checked this morning and hunting still isn't a recognized profession, so I'm guessing you're short, or you will be sooner rather than later."

Nick just shoots him a look that says _I told you_. Dean looks to Sam, practically begging him to weigh in, begging that his pride be hurt, that he thinks it's some kind of bribe, anything, but he doesn't see it and he's standing alone again.

And she just looks at him and takes a breath, "It's not kiss off money, it's not please like me money, it's just money. I don't doubt for a second you can take care of yourselves. It's just to save you a night or two of hustling or whatever you do for cash. You look like you could use some sleep."

His new burst of anger fueled energy is short lived, short circuited by the realization that he's at a loss of for a come back more cutting than 'you're a stupid head'. And he just deflates.

"Thanks." Sam chimes in, the final nail in the coffin of his strength.

She smiles faintly, "You're welcome." Then her face drops, "I didn't speak to my father." She announces as she's arranging cutlery.

"What?" Dean wants to snap, but he's done and it comes out quietly, disbelievingly.

"He wasn't there," She looks at him, without anger, just filled with frustration, "He's disappeared on some 'fishing expedition'," she mimes quotes with her fingers and her obvious exasperation actually helps to keep his at bay. "He does this from time to time, when he's on the trail of something." She turns to Nick and appears to head off his next question, "I've already called Rachel and Kat. They'll call if they hear anything."

"Who are Rachel and Kat?" Sam asks.

"His wife, her daughter. Rachel went to London to meet him last week and said he took off for a few days to Devon for research, then she got a quick note that he'd be gone, not too long, don't tell anyone, and that's all she's heard. Kat hasn't heard word one from him either."

"Where's she?" Dean asks.

"Oxford. Studying. Her term's just begun."

"Is she one of these Daughters?"

"No. But she and Rachel both belong to the Legacy." Dean thinks that the sleeplessness, the grinding, relentless stream of information and capital 'B"-big news, the emotional exhaustion, which even he is _this close_ to admitting to, is getting to him. To Lilly too, he acknowledges in a fleeting instant of compassion. He also thinks that her father disappearing is just too close to how his father operates. Another reminder, another poke at already tender skin, and so he tones his voice down.

"So, does he uh…" Dean clears his throat, "…do this a lot?"

"Now and then." She arranges the food on the table distractedly, "Yes. He does. It drives me mad." She takes a deep breath and continues, catching Dean squarely in the eye. They understand each other. _At least_, he thinks, _she's let the moment pass in silence._

"How long's he been gone this time?" Nick asks.

"Five days, according to Uncle William. No one's heard from him yet. He usual checks in once a week or so, to let us know he's alive."

"OK, so it's not even a week, nothing to worry about yet." Sam offers and places a hand on her shoulder. The casual connection between them crackles like static in Dean's mind and he flinches inwardly as though he's been shocked.

"Is there a chance your father knows you're here?" She looks at Dean, asks as though he is her last hope. "Could he have followed you? Did you tell him you were headed this way?" Her questions lack the rapid fire energy she had the night before.

"Anything's possible." Dean shakes his head, truly out of answers, having been at ground zero for the last few days already.

"This is just a bit fucking convenient, don't you think?" She tosses napkins down with a flick of her wrist. "They're both being gone? Your father's sudden insistence you stop following him? Us.." Dean is suprised to see her struggling for words, waving her hands in the air as if she could catch them if she tried, "..you know. Suddenly all of it at once? Is there a chance they know and they're avoiding us on purpose?"

They all stand silently until the sound of Dean's grumbling stomach makes Issabelle peel with laughter and they sit without a word, no one looking up from their plate. At least Dean hasn't looked up. He assumes from the quiet everyone else is lost too, at the end of explanations.

"So? What now?" Sam asks.


	16. Chapter 16

Lilly stands in the doorway of the motel, sheets of rain coming down just behind her. Sam lost the flip and he's loading the car. They've found a hunt in Pennsylvania and they're finally leaving. There isn't much to do without the fathers. They've been through the journal with a fine toothed comb, nothing. Lilly refuses to crack her father's journals or computers or desk without giving him a chance to explain first, though Nick assures them that won't last if her father is still incommunicado for long.

Nick has begun digging up everything they can find on any Yellow Eyed or Fire Demons anywhere in the vast Legacy libraries. Phone numbers and e-mails have been exchanged, passwords that they shouldn't have until they actually agree to join the Legacy have been exchanged. Hugs and goodbyes, between Sam and Lilly, Dean and Issy, have been exchanged. And now, just a week after arriving in San Francisco, the car is almost packed and they've checked out.

Dean stands across from her, loading the last of the weapons into the ancient duffel. He doesn't invite her in, doesn't stand still long enough to let her stare him down again. She looks both littler and some how more imposing in her surgical scrubs. It's six AM and she's on call again. He wonders if she feels weird too, back to work after the world tipped on its axis, no one else outside their little family (his mind stutters on the word) the wiser. The disquiet must be radiating off him, because she walks in, chucks her coat and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Can we just not do this?" She asks him, "Just for shits and giggles, let's not go ten rounds right before you leave. We can go twenty the next time. I promise."

_The next time_, he thinks. Lilly tosses the phrase off so casually. Sammy's already planning a trip back and they haven't even left yet. And all Dean wants is to leave. To get to the new hunt he found in Pennsylvania and pound the crap out of something that's just asking for it. To stop being confused and anxious and stomach's-bottomed-out hollow and to stop trying so hard. He's trying hard to keep warm, because she's the water that's seeped into the rock that will freeze and split it apart when the cold comes. And it will. Sam will get restless if Dad doesn't show up soon. And Lilly's life is a pretty tempting port in the storm.

"Sure." He makes sure that his tone is just the tiniest bit biting. Not enough to beg a comeback, just enough to be heard. "What's that?" He looks to the bag she's holding, "More food?"

She's misinterpreted his question for friendliness, he thinks for a second, "Maybe. Some of it. OK. Two sandwiches for the road and the rest of the cake from the other night." Then he realizes she hasn't misinterpreted a thing and he'll have to remember to be on guard every time he talks to her, "You know, so you'll like me." Sarcasm. Well at least he's on equal footing in a snark-off.

"I thought we weren't going ten rounds?" He pushes, just a bit.

"You started it." She looks at him in all seriousness then grins, just a bit, and he makes himself not grin back. "There are also suture kits, extra silk, gloves, scalpels, blades, gauze, tape, bandages, surgical antiseptic, antibiotic cream, strong broad spectrum antibiotics. And some _really_ impressive painkillers, practically recreational. And Nick threw in some bullets, silver, a few dozen."

"Uh, thanks." He hates that this stuff will all be useful, better than what they can normally get their hands on. He hates that the cash she gave them was well timed. That he genuinely likes her husband and daughter and that he's running out of reasons to hate her. Hates that this banter is making him feel better. He doesn't want to feel better.

"And this is for you." She hands him an envelope.

He opens the envelope and sees a picture of himself from the morning before, Issabelle on his shoulders, her little red boots swinging in front of his chest. "How did you …" She simply raises her eyebrow at him. "Right." He says. She would tend to such things.

"Nick took it with his phone. She's really crazy about you." Lilly smiles looking at her daughter's image and it looks like his mother those few weeks ago, smiling at Sam, just for a second. Before…

"She's OK too." He smiles to cover the lump in his throat.

Sam is back from the car, shaking rain from his hair, rubbing his hands together and Dean thinks again of the cold and what's coming. "OK, we're ready."

They stand quietly for a beat and she says, "Well, I should go. It's going to be a long day."

"Long shift?" Sam asks.

"No, but the weather brings out the idiots. The ER will be full, I'll have consults all day. And then I have to have dinner with Nick's mother. You'd like her," She looks at Dean mischievously, "she thinks I'm the Antichrist."

Dean sees Sam pale and almost begin to stammer then she winks at him and Sam laughs. It aches that she makes Sam laugh. "Good luck in Pennsylvania." She hugs Sam and begins to get her coat back on. "Call if you need anything. Or, you know, if you don't."

"We will." Sam smiles at her, then turns to him, "We will." No smile this time, but a face full of overwrought reassurance, for Dean not Lilly. Dean knows Sam means well, but how can he compete with her. It doesn't occur to him for a second that maybe he doesn't have to.

"I'll call when we know anything." She walks to Dean and hesitates. "Call if you need some help. Not that you _need_ help. Obviously. But the girls and I, we're uh…handy."

"Sure." His voice is clipped. His heart is pounding again and his back is up. Not because of her offer, because now she's at the door and suddenly an encyclopedia of questions is on the tip of his tongue and a war rages inside him between letting her go and suddenly wanting so much more from this. But she waves from the doorway and he hears her car start and drive off.

"You ready?" Sam asks and Dean clears his throat.

"Yeah. Let's go." His brother is giving him his space and he's glad that Sam knows him well enough, but he wishes just a little that he wouldn't. _I have my freaking period_, he thinks as he climbs into his car, the last waves of unsteady emotion working their way across his abdomen. He turns the engine over and the loud, soothing rumble starts to warm him like hot chocolate in from the cold. _The cold_, he thinks again. It's coming.


End file.
